At seven that evening Mr. Torrance returned flushed and excited, but with an air of triumph. Kathleen schooled herself to meet him calmly, and asked in a natural tone, "Where is Kenneth, John? Have you given him to nurse? It is late for him to be out."
She trembled visibly, though she strove not to show her anxiety.
"You ask where our boy is. I will tell you after dinner, on certain conditions. In the meanwhile, let me say he is with those who will teach him to obey—a lesson he would hardly learn from you."
Without another word he passed her, and went to dress for dinner.
Kathleen easily divined what the conditions would be, and resolved not to yield to them. She only thought, "John is proud of our boy, and will not harm him. He only wants to coerce me through my fears for the child. I must bear in mind that if I have to endure threats and suspense during the child's absence, they will be for Kenneth's sake."
She went about preparing mechanically for the meal of which it would be impossible for her to partake. She even took special pains with her dress, and quietly told the nurse not to expect her charge before the morrow, as Mr. Torrance had left him to spend the night elsewhere.
Her manner deceived the servants, who were wondering what this new departure might mean. It also puzzled her husband, who expected passionate reproaches, tears and entreaties—anything but calmness. He could not imagine her capable of self-restraint where her child was concerned, and he saw it with surprise. Kathleen's trial came as soon as the servants left the room.
"You are not troubled at your darling's absence," said Mr. Torrance, in a mocking tone.
"How can I fear, when you are responsible for his safety?" replied Kathleen. "Still, it would have been kinder to tell me you were taking him away for the night."
"Or, if I had not taken him at all, I suppose."
"It is unusual to take one so young from home without warning the mother, that he might be fittingly clothed."
"It will do the boy good to rough it. He will have to do so, as a younger son. You have spoiled him."
Kathleen could not answer, and her silence irritated her husband, and disturbed his anticipation of an easy triumph, to be gained by the removal of the child.
"You are indifferent about the youngster, then; perhaps you are tired of both him and me. Why do you not speak?"
"You asked no question, and your remark called for no reply. You know that it was equally unjust and undeserved," replied Kathleen.
Her quiet dignity rendered Mr. Torrance uneasy, and he began to ask himself as to the source of her strength. There was something about Kathleen to-night which he could not fathom. Surely this hitherto yielding woman was not going to foil him when, as he would have expressed it, he had played his strongest card.
At this moment a servant entered and said, "Mountain would be glad to speak to you for a moment, ma'am."
"Excuse me for a moment, John," said Kathleen, "I will be back directly."
Mr. Torrance was always guarded before his servants, and he remarked, good-humouredly, "I suppose your favourite has been ailing. Mountain is a fidget about his horses."
When Mountain saw his mistress he made a remark or two about Polly, adding, "She is about well again now." Then in a low voice he said, "I've got the message, Miss Kathleen—ma'am, I mean. The child is safe at Monk's How."
An intelligent look from his mistress was enough for Mountain, and though she only remarked, "I am glad my favourite is better," he knew what his message had done for her.
Kathleen's heart beat wildly with the gladness Mountain's news had brought, but she went back to her husband with an unmoved face.
"Polly had been ailing, but Mountain says she is well again," she remarked.
"What do I care about the animal?" retorted Mr. Torrance. "You take Kenneth's absence coolly enough, and I am not likely to trouble about the mare. We have important business to talk about."
"I am ready to listen, John."
"You know what I mean well enough. You have only to recall to mind what I said this morning about the money you have been hoarding. I must and will have it, or a good portion of it, immediately."
"I do remember what you said. Surely you also remember my answer."
"You dare not repeat it, Kathleen."
"There is no need for me to do so; but oh, John! look back and think of the past, I pray you. If you do, you cannot persist in such a request. Remember this is all I have reserved for our child."
"I do not want the settled property. That is out of your power to give, but the money you have hoarded I will have, or you shall not see the boy again until he has forgotten that he ever knew his mother. I have him in my power, at any rate."
Even this threat failed to move Kathleen. In the same firm but quiet tone, she replied—
"I am sorry to deny you anything, John, but I must do what I feel to be right."
And as Mr. Torrance listened he was more than ever convinced that some secret influence was working against him, and that his final triumph was doubtful. He laughed uneasily, as he answered with a yawn—
"I am tired with my double journey, and need rest I will give you until to-morrow morning to come to your senses. By the way, I am glad the mare is all right again. She will sell for something, and every little helps."
The littleness displayed in this threat pained Kathleen more than the threat itself. Every day of late had shown her more plainly to what manner of man she had given herself. At this moment, however, the thought, "My child is safe, in loving hands, and with those whose faces and home are familiar to him," took the sting from the bitterest words that Mr. Torrance could say to her.
In spite of herself, Kathleen felt troubled about her husband. The complaint of weariness was no pretence. He walked unsteadily from the room, as if suffering from giddiness, and she noticed the almost livid colour on his face. He had of late frequently consulted a specialist relative to attacks of the kind, and had been advised to live very quietly and avoid excitement and stimulants. He would obey for then, feeling better, would laugh resume his old habits. Before Kathleen slept, she knew the story of her boy's recovery. It was told as briefly as possible in a note which Mountain placed in her hands later still.
IT had been easy for Aylmer to find out that Mr. Torrance had left the train at Earlsford Junction, and Kenneth with him. The ex-captain was too well-known through the county for any mistake in identity to be possible. Besides, the carrying off of the child had been a sudden inspiration, not the result of a carefully laid plan, and Mr. Torrance had only counted that it would be needful to detain him for a night in some place unknown to his mother, to ensure her complete subjugation.
At Earlsford, he had hired a conveyance and driven away with the child, then returned alone, and taken train to another station thirty miles distant, whence he would return to Hollingsby.
Aylmer discovered the driver employed by Mr. Torrance without any trouble, and the man was willing to give any information, as Mr. Matheson was no stranger to him.
"It was a new thing for the captain to be in charge of the little man," he said. "But he was in rare spirits, as if he were up to some trick. Little master cried when his father left him, but Mrs. Munslow will take good care of him. She was nurse at Monk's How once, and afterwards she married a widower with two children, but comfortably off. She has one of her own now, so little master won't be short of a playfellow," said the man.
Aylmer knew that Ralph's nurse, Sarah Swain, was married, but neither remembered her present name nor her exact address—only that her home was a couple of miles from Earlsford Junction. The idea that Mr. Torrance would take the boy to Sarah had flashed across his mind, and sent him in the right direction instead of to town. He accordingly engaged the driver to convey him to her house. Under Sarah's charge he found little Kenneth, making himself very much at home in the society of the smallest Munslow.
Sarah beamed with delight at the sight of Mr. Matheson, and frankly owned that she thought her old master was up to some trick to plague his lady.
"I wouldn't have let him leave the child, sir," she said, "only I know Captain Torrance, and I thought he might be left in worse hands, if I refused. I knew I could make him comfortable, bless him! Isn't he like his beautiful mother? He has her eyes to a bit."
Mr. Matheson assented, and replied, "I am very glad you did take the poor child in. I can trust you to help me in restoring him to his mother."
He did not hesitate to trust Sarah in more than this, for he knew how grateful the woman had been to Kathleen, the Ellicotts, and himself, on Ralph's account.
"I always knew what would come of that marriage, sir," said Mrs. Munslow. "My old master might put on new ways for a bit, to get his own way; but he'll never change, and be a real, new man. If anybody could have altered him, Master Ralph's mother would have been the one, for Mr. Torrance cared more for her than for any human being but himself."
"Poor Miss Kathleen! She was good to my nursling, and to me. My master couldn't help being taken up with her beautiful face and pretty ways, but what he wanted was the money. He hasn't had sense to keep it, more's the pity. Eh dear! Miss Kathleen thought she could turn him round her little finger, he was so meek for a while and when he was in her sight, but out of it—"
Sarah shook her head to express what she did not put into words. In a regretful way she added, "The master was wonderfully fine-looking. No wonder a young lady thought such a handsome shell must cover a good kernel. But he is different now—so coarsened, as one may say."
Aylmer could only assent. The stamp of an evil life was only too visible, and Mr. Torrance's face to-day was in painful contrast to that of the handsome cavalier who had so captivated Kathleen's girlish fancy on the day of the meet a few years ago.
Mr. Matheson purposed taking the child back with him to Earlsford Station, but Sarah's womanly wit suggested a better plan.
"Pay off the man, sir, and say you will not go back to the station, but bid me good day before he starts, and set off walking to the station further on. When he is well out of sight, come back. We have a nice covered trap and a good horse here. Munslow can drive you to Hollingsby by a shorter road than the train takes, and you can send a message to Mountain from a post-office on the way. You will get nicely home when it is dusk."
This plan was adopted. Kenneth, weary with so much journeying, slept on the road, and was given into Geraldine's arms, too drowsy to be roused, so was put to bed at Monk's How.
Mr. Torrance had never doubted that Kathleen would be like wax in his hands, and said to himself, "I shall settle the business easily enough over the breakfast-table. My lady may think she will beat me, but when she has slept upon the matter she will listen to reason. When I have secured the cash, the boy shall come back, and she will be so delighted to have him that she will forget all else, as she has done many a time before, after our quarrels were over."
Mr. Torrance had reached his dressing-room when he came to this mental conclusion. He was feeling wretchedly ill, and unfit for anything but rest. He caught sight of his face in the glass, and was startled by its colour. He walked unsteadily across the floor, and was fain to sit down before undressing.
"This dizziness again. The old doctor's warning will come true, if I go on in the way I have done lately. I must turn over a fresh leaf, or—"
A servant passing the door heard a fall, and listened. There was no further movement, but a sound of heavy, unnatural breathing reached her, and she ran hastily downstairs to call for help. She met her mistress at the foot of the stairs, and told her that she was afraid Mr. Torrance must be ill.
Kathleen told the girl to follow her, hastened to the dressing-room, and found her husband lying senseless and motionless on the floor. The only sign of life was the stertorous breathing which had attracted the girl's attention, and caused her to give the alarm.
The doctor was soon on the spot, and confirmed the fear which had taken possession of Kathleen.
"Yes, it is apoplexy," he said. "Mr. Torrance's father died of it, but later in life. He was careful of himself, and lived by strict rules, which I could not induce your husband to do, though it was his only chance, and he knew it."
Kathleen's distress can be better imagined than described. Trouble is always intensified at such times by the knowledge that we have parted on other than kindly terms with the one who now lies stricken and helpless. If the sufferer ever held the dearest place in our hearts, our own wrongs seem to vanish, and through the mist of past years of trial we see him, not as the author of our sorrows, but as he was when he won our girlish love. So it was with Kathleen, and sad indeed were the few days which followed her husband's seizure. She was ever praying for, and longing to see a look of recognition, to hear him whisper her name, or give signs of possible restoration.
Only once came a gleam of consciousness, and the sufferer's eyes wandered, as if in search of something. Kathleen bent over him, and whispered, "Do you know me, John?—Kathleen." A slight murmur, and she caught one word, "Adela." It was a last effort. Mr. Torrance relapsed into unconsciousness, and a few hours later Kathleen was a widow. The only thought of which he had been capable was not given to her who had given him all, or to their child. It had gone back to his first love—the only real affection of his life, and that a sadly selfish one.
"He never truly loved me," thought Kathleen. "He married my fortune, and I married and almost worshipped an ideal being, the creature of my own imagination, until the scales fell from my eyes, and I knew. Yet how happy we might have been, with so many blessings to make life and home bright and free from the anxious cares which spoil so many wedded lives!"
Many particulars of her husband's past were mercifully hidden from Kathleen, but his embarrassments could not be concealed. All the ready money was gone, and ten thousand pounds obtained by mortgaging the estates had followed, and arrangements were in progress for a similar advance. The fact that some difficulty had occurred to retard their completion had moved Mr. Torrance to try and extort from Kathleen the sum saved for her boy. As her former guardian, Aylmer Matheson was the fittest person to act on her behalf, and as far as possible he saved her trouble and anxiety in business matters. Ralph also proved a comfort in the first period of her sorrow. He was full of loving thought, and all that was best in his character showed itself towards her and the brother, of whom he had formerly been unreasonably jealous.
Kathleen's goodness to the once lonely boy bore fruit after many days, and gave her a dutiful son in the manly youth, outwardly so like his father, but happily unlike him in other respects. Ralph was now nearly eighteen, and for several years past had improved greatly both in character and appearance. That he grieved deeply for the loss of his father goes without saying.
Mr. Torrance had left no valid will. One had been prepared by his instructions in an hour of compunction, or, perhaps, when the doctor's warnings, and the memory of Kathleen's unbounded trust, had moved him to do what conscience told him was only just. But it had never been signed. A superstitious feeling, a change of mood, or the determination to hold his power as a sort of weapon over his wife's head, had kept Mr. Torrance from completing his will, which, without his signature, was only so much waste paper.
Ralph did not at first realize his position.
"Shall you stay at the Hall, mother?" he asked. "It will seem large and lonely for you, and, from what Mr. Matheson says, the income will be too small to keep the same establishment. Still, it has always been your home."
"You forget, Ralph dear. It is not mine now, it is yours. The property was not settled on me. It became your father's absolutely, by my deed of conveyance, and you, his elder son, are his heir."
"You cannot be in earnest, mother. It would be horribly wicked in me to allow it. I shall give it straight back to you, and after you it ought to go to Kenneth, that is, if you wished him to have it, for the property is yours, first of all, to keep or to give. I am sorry, so sorry, mother dear, that it is sadly lessened, and you can only live very plainly here."
"I should not wish to live here in any case, Ralph. I could not if I would. And you, dear boy, have no power, however much you may wish it, to give my old home back to me. You are barely eighteen, and until you are of age you can do nothing. Three years hence—"
"I shall be of age, and I will do what is right by you and my brother," interposed Ralph, quickly.
He kissed her tenderly, and Kathleen smiled through glad tears, and returned the caress. She would not say anything to cast a doubt on his sincerity. Indeed, she fully believed in it; but who could tell whether he would feel the same when the power to make restitution was really in his hands?
"If I were to die in the meanwhile," said Ralph, after a pause, "I suppose the property would come to Kenneth, as my heir?"
"I have never thought of such a possibility, and with all my heart I pray that God will spare both my dear sons to be my comfort. I shall hope for more than one staff for my old age. In the meanwhile, I am thankful that matters have been so arranged that Mr. Matheson and I will be joint guardians of you two infants. Your father had appointed us in that unsigned will, and his wish has been carried out in this respect by consent of the court."
When Kathleen used the word "infants" she stretched herself on tiptoe, and smiled up in Ralph's face, for, though she was considerably above middle height, she was much below that of her tall stepson.
"One of your infants looks down on you in stature, mother," said Ralph; "but in all else he looks up to his guardian. How glad I am that you and Mr. Matheson should be joined in this trust! With neither mother nor father of my very own, I yet have both in you and him."
After Ralph's departure, Kathleen left the Hall with her little son. It cost her something to turn her back on the home of a lifetime, but so many sorrowful memories were now associated with it, that even had she been able to remain, she would not have done so. She had arranged to make her home with her aunt and Geraldine at Monk's How. Mrs. Ellicott was in failing health, the house was large enough, little Kenneth would help to brighten the place, and the elders would be mutually sources of comfort to each other.
Kathleen's income would suffice for the modest wants of herself and her boy. A tenant had offered to take the Hall furnished, on a three years' lease, and was willing to engage such of the servants as chose to stay, except the coachman.
"He needn't say, 'except the coachman,'" remarked Mountain. "I am too old to begin under another master. I serve Miss Kathleen as was, or I retire into private life, with a cottage and a cow or two. But, seeing that Mrs. Ellicott's man is leaving to go to a livelier place, she has offered me his, and I mean to take it. It's likely enough I shall drive my own young lady as long as I can hold the reins, for, though I shall be coachman to the old one, it's all in the family."
By some mysterious arrangement, the particulars of which no one seemed to know, Polly was transferred to Monk's How along with Mountain. Kathleen asked no curious questions, but as she patted the glossy coat of her old favourite, she was contented to owe this pleasure to the kind thought of a friend. She was not likely to mount the pretty creature, but, as every one said, "Polly was equally good to ride or drive, and looked just perfect always."
Kathleen was only twenty-nine when she took up her abode with the Ellicotts, but a silver thread might be seen here and there, amidst the soft masses of her abundant hair. She smiled as she called attention to them.
"I have been growing old fast of late, aunty," she said to Mrs. Ellicott. "Ger does not change a bit, unless it is to look younger and fairer. I feel so staid and middle-aged beside her."
The trembling lip and a suspicious moisture in her eyes told that Kathleen was looking back on the saddest period of her life.
"You will grow younger again here, Kitty," replied Ger. "In this quiet home you will begin a new life, and in time it will be a bright and happy one."
But the cloud did not soon pass away from Kathleen's spirit. She seldom spoke of her husband, and her friends felt it to be the truest kindness to allude to the past as little as possible. They knew that, far and beyond all other causes of sorrow, the thought of Mr. Torrance's condition when the last dread summons came was the most terrible of all.
In time, however, the widowed Mrs. Torrance became more like the Kathleen Mountford of old, but there was no trace of the girlish self-will that had led her astray. The lessons she had learned through suffering had produced blessed and enduring results, which each day made more manifest. Mrs. Ellicott only lived a year after Mr. Torrance, and her gentle presence was greatly missed by all who knew her, especially by her daughter and niece.
During the three years of Ralph's minority, the Hollingsby Hall estates were well managed, and though not free from encumbrance when he came of age, all debts and a portion of the mortgage had been paid off. There were no special festivities on Ralph's twenty-first birthday, as every one—none more than himself—felt that such would have been out of place. Kathleen, however, laid aside her widow's dress, and wore a rich black silk with soft white lace at the wrists and throat, in honour of the occasion.
"Mother, how beautiful you look!" said Ralph, as he held her at arm's length, and surveyed her from head to foot. "You have really grown young again. I am so glad you have changed your style of dress."
"I did so in compliment to the heir's birthday," she replied. Then clasping her arms round him she kissed him tenderly and said, "I pray that God may abundantly bless you, my dear boy, and make you a useful, happy man. A true soldier and follower of Christ."
"That is just what I want to be, mother dear," said Ralph, after returning the embrace, and whilst still holding her in his strong arms. "You know that I promised to tell you to-day what profession I meant to follow, for I should dread the thought of an idle life. I used to talk of being a soldier, and then I gave up the idea. I still wish to be one, but to fight under the greatest of all Captains, and not with weapons forged by the hands of men. Do you know what I mean?"
"I think I do, dear. You wish to be a true soldier of Christ, and you think you can best serve Him by dedicating your life to the ministry."
"Yes. I have talked everything over with Mr. Matheson, and he approves, and says he believes I have made a right choice. You, too, will ask God's blessing upon it, I know."
Kathleen was delighted. She knew that Aylmer would not approve unless fully convinced of Ralph's sincerity and fitness for such a vocation.
The two were interrupted at the moment by the entrance of little Kenneth, who rushed to his brother, exclaiming, "See, Ralph. This is my birthday present, and I wish you many happy returns."
It was a simple little gift, but it had cost the child some self-denial, and Ralph praised and valued it accordingly, to the great satisfaction of the donor.
"Now, Kenneth," he said, "you shall take a present that I have got here and give it to mother."
"It's not mother's birthday," said the boy, taking the offered packet. "It is tied up, so p'r'aps you want her to keep it till her birthday comes."
"No, my boy. Mother must have it just now, and from your small hands. After all, it is not a gift. It is something of mother's very own which some one has taken care of, ready to be given back to her."
Kathleen guessed what the packet contained. It was a deed by which she would be restored to full possession of the Hall and the estates that had been her own before her marriage.
"I will not refuse your gift, Ralph," she said, "for a gift it is, inasmuch as the law gave it absolutely to you. But I know your nature too well to think that you could ever be happy if you kept it. You know also that I can experience no greater pleasure than in using all I have for the benefit of both my boys."
There was a little dinner-party at Mr. Matheson's that evening, that the day might not pass quite unmarked by any social gathering, but the guests were few. Amongst them, however, were two who were specially welcome, namely, the new Dean of Woldcaster and his bride, formerly Hetty Stapleton.
Hetty, staunch, generous and helpful always, and particularly where the welfare of her own sex was involved, had spoken with equal plainness and good sense at the meeting of a society formed to improve the condition of working girls. The Very Rev. the Dean of Woldcaster had been present on that occasion. He was a bachelor of forty-five, and a friend of Aylmer Matheson. He had just decided that his handsome residence, in the Close at Woldcaster, needed a fitting mistress, and before long he came to the further conclusion that Miss Stapleton would be the very person to fill that position, if she would accept it.
There was another good reason for the proposal, which followed after a short interval. The dean was thoroughly in love, for the first time in his life. He confessed to Hetty that such was the case with a sort of apology, as if it were a thing to be ashamed of.
"The fact is," he exclaimed, "I have always lived such a busy life, and I have had younger brothers and sisters to look after and help on in the world, so that I have never had time until now."
Whereupon Hetty, with a laugh and a blush which became her exceedingly well, owned that she was very glad to hear it.
After this all was smooth sailing, and as the dean's bride Hetty was an important guest at Ralph's birthday dinner.
They made, all together, a very happy party, and every one rejoiced to see the joyous light in Kathleen's eyes, and to hear something of the old ring in her voice, which had been long missing.
The dean took a friend's privilege, and rallied his host on his bachelor establishment, vaunted his own happily changed condition, and advised Aylmer to follow his example. He was thinking how well that nice Miss Ellicott would suit Matheson in every way.
His wife was a little uneasy, for she knew of the old wound, and could gauge the faithfulness of the true heart that would never find room for a second love. Only Kathleen could fill the void.
The party broke up fairly early, for the dean and his wife had a long drive before them.
Aylmer walked back to Monk's How with Kathleen, for the night was lovely, and the distance not great. Ralph was in advance of them with Ger. Kathleen's hand rested on Aylmer's arm, and they walked some little way without speaking. Then she broke the silence by saying, "How well Ralph is turning out, and it is all through you. No words can tell what a blessed influence you have exerted over his life, and mine too. To think of the dear boy's choice, and his making over everything to me again as soon as possible."
"That was only just and honest. As a true man, Ralph could have done nothing else, and we can rejoice in the knowledge that he has a horror of everything that is not true and upright."
"I seem to be always accepting benefits. Every one has been so good to me, since—"
Kathleen paused. She could not bear to say what was in her mind, but Aylmer knew that she would be thinking of Mr. Torrance's death.
"Better not to look back, dear Kathleen," he said. "The prospect ahead is bright now, for you and yours, at any rate."
Kathleen noticed the sigh which followed.
"I must look back a long way, Aylmer, even to my childish days, and to the time when you took such a thankless office as that of guardian to so self-willed a girl as I was. On your part, I can see nothing but patience, kindness, unselfishness, generosity and affection, to which I was never worthy. You have always been giving, and I receiving, and I suppose it will be the same to the end. Even now, I am a petitioner, and must ask yet more at your hands. With the restoration of the property, new responsibilities rest upon me. I long to do right, but I mistrust my own judgment. I want my old guardian's help more than ever, for my boys as well as myself. I cannot stand alone."
"You know, dear Kathleen, there is nothing you can ask that I shall be unwilling to give or to do," replied Aylmer.
"I knew you would say so. You are always the same. How I wish I could do something for you, or give you, in ever so little a way, a proof that I am grateful for your goodness and—sorry for the past!"
"You can, dearest Kathleen, if you will. There is only one gift that would make me rich indeed, and you know what it is. I asked for it once before, but then—"
"I was blind and could not discern the difference. But I will not talk of the past, Aylmer. If you can really care for such a gift, it is yours, my good, faithful love. I only wish I were more worthy of you."
There was no mistaking Kathleen's sincerity, and as Aylmer drew her towards him, he knew that he at last possessed the whole heart of the only woman he had ever loved. She did not withdraw from his encircling arm, but lifted her face to his, that he might seal the compact with his lips.
It would be easy to draw a fair picture of after years, for these events happened long ago. The child Kenneth is growing up to stalwart manhood, and Ralph's name is known and honoured as that of a true servant of Christ.
Kathleen's hair has more than mere silver threads in it now, though many—her husband included—think her handsomer than ever. But the story shall end here, for it only professed to be that of A Wilful Ward, and the title no longer applies to Mrs. Matheson, wife of the senior Member for Woldshire.
THE END
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.